


I'll Let Your Ride Be Free

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Soul to Squeeze: Pitstop on the Farewell Tour [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Dark, Gen, Mild Language, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b><span class="u">Book Three of 'Dean and the Doctor' Series:</span></b> <i>It wasn't the fact that he'd pop up at the oddest of times (like that old harbinger crow of doom – hardly fair, though Dean could see how he had garnered that reputation); it wasn't the fact that he had a </i>Time Machine<i> of all things. It wasn't even the fact that he had inserted himself in their lives no less than three times before disappearing in that quiet way he had once the dust settled. <span class="u">(Set S7-Ep1-2 of Supernatural and just after S6-Ep12 'Closing Time' for Doctor Who)</span></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Let Your Ride Be Free

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/a_phoenixdragon/pic/00210fky/)

  


**~I'll Let Your Ride Be Free~**

  


_He was suppose to be like everyone else: someone you passed on the road, saw them once and though you liked them well enough, time and circumstances meant you'd never see them again._

_Never mind the man was hardly like anyone else._

_It wasn't the fact that he'd pop up at the oddest of times (like that old harbinger crow of doom – hardly fair, though Dean could see how he had garnered that reputation); it wasn't the fact that he had a_ Time Machine _of all things. It wasn't even the fact that he had inserted himself in their lives no less than three times before disappearing in that quiet way he had once the dust settled._

 _He carried that quality that set him apart, but couldn't be explained. If you asked him, he'd just grin that goofy, careless grin and say '_ I'm the Doctor! _' like it was so simple and matter of fact, a child could see it (and maybe they did). But the truth was, the man (like his Machine) was anything but simple, and those three words (usually following his other catchphrase '_ Trust me. _') hardly described him at all._

 _Dean wasn't really a 'people' person, that was Sam through and through. But when it came to the Doctor, he and Sam were at odds. Dean prided himself on being able to read true character – and with the Doctor he saw...well,_ them _– him and Sam; albeit on a much broader scale, with a much wider road than most got._

_But that wasn't completely it, either._

_It was the way he looked so young, but was so very, very old. It was the way he could smile (even when the world was burning) like it would all be okay again – even if his eyes said it never would be. It was the way you found yourself instantly trusting and liking him (unless you were Sam)._

_But then, maybe Sam could see something that Dean couldn't and thus had never quite warmed to the Time-Lord. Dean wondered if the very quality that drew people to the Doctor turned Sam away; or maybe he saw a part of himself reflected in the man that he couldn't reconcile and was deterred by it. It was the one friendship he and Sam could never agree on, but after that one incident (or scrap, or fight, or brawl – however you chose to see it), his brother never spoke of it again and they agreed to disagree._

_It was one of the few things Dean refused to give way on. The Doctor was his friend, he was someone special; and for some reason, despite the eldest Winchester boy’s aversion to relationships (generally speaking), he fought for it fiercely. He was determined to not give it up, not without a serious fight. Because he_ wasn't _a random stranger. He wasn't someone you liked, but passed without a ‘hello’ when you found yourself going down that road once more._

 _He was the_ Doctor _. As simple and as complicated as that one statement could ever be._

_Dean would fight to keep him. Just like he'd fight to keep Sam, fight to keep Bobby. Maybe it was selfish, foolish, stubborn and foolhardy of him. Maybe he would come to regret it down the line. A lot of people who had met him had (according to the Doctor himself); but until that time, Dean Winchester was honored to call him a friend, to call him someone he trusted. He'd fight for him until his last breath, if that's what it took._

_Too bad the Doctor had other ideas on the matter..._

 

  
**DW~SPN~DW~SPN~DW**   


 

He almost had her complete.

The Impala's body work was finished: she had two new doors, a new trunk, four new tires and fresh paint to cover her (good as new) frame. Dean had striped her engine (as he had her chassis) and he was putting the finishing touches on her while the day was still young and the weather allowed it. He could have backed her into one of the numerous garage cubbyholes scattered across Bobby's yard, but Dean had always preferred to work out in the sunlight and fresh air.

Most of his job was done at night – and while he loved the nighttime hours and the sweet, quiet stillness that could go with it, he also enjoyed the benefits of the daytime when he could get it. It was a rarity (daylight was usually saved for traveling) so he soaked up each moment that he could get away with – and times, _moments_ like these were right next door to his idea of heaven. Just him, his girl, a cold soda, his well-loved tools, and a mild spring day.

To carry on the trend of weird weather patterns here of late, it was rather warm for early March; but then, Dean was never one to look too closely at a gift horse and the dental work it happened to be sporting.

He had lost a lot over the past week and he knew (in a weary way that left him tired and depressed if he thought too much about it) that he might only lose more before the course of the year was out. It was just the way things were, it was life as a Winchester. His job was to make sure he didn't lose any of the things he held dear (and there were precious few of those left), but if he was destined to do so anyway, it was also his job to kick the shit out of whatever tried. That was the Winchester way – and on days like today, Dean wouldn't have changed a thing.

Okay, a _few_ things – but dwelling wasn't his habit, so he tinkered happily with his baby's engine and bobbed his head along to the tunes on the radio (his spot in the yard picked specifically for the fantastic reception it received). He was working his way around one of the few pieces he didn't strip (for very specific reasons) so it wasn't at all surprising that he didn't hear it at first.

He worked his way around the part (idly wondering about the man who put it in and how the year had treated _him_ so far), humming along (absently) to the guitar rift on the radio when he heard the noise – faint, but very specific. It almost sounded like a log being sawed in half from far away, but with more of a resonant hum than a saw could ever produce. There _was_ a logging area not too far from Bobby's salvage yard, but it was too close to be any of the loggers working – unless they liked getting slapped with fines and run off with shotguns. He paused to listen, turning down the radio, but the sound wasn't repeated, so he went back to tinkering, chalking the noise up to his imagination (helped along by the fact he was working around a part that didn't exactly come with the Impala in her original design schematics).

He was working on a particularly stubborn valve (trying his damnedest to not jog the foreign piece nearby), when he heard the noise again – and this time he knew it wasn't his imagination. He ducked out from under the hood and closed it with haste, throwing a tarp over the Impala's front as debris from the footpath and scraggles of grass blew up around him like a cyclone, the humming/sawing noise rising in pitch before dropping again.

The displacement of molecules in the air could be felt as much as seen, the sensation like tingles along his exposed skin; the whiff of ozone almost sweetened with another smell that he could only describe in his mind as 'moondust' – though considering where the odor was coming from, it was probably a long way from any location even near the moon. An almost oval nimbus appeared in front of him, covering a rather large patch of ground and giving the air inside and around it an almost hazy, quality, like heat waves off the road in the distance. Within the oval (flickering in and out of being) was a familiar blue London Police Call Box, Her form see-through at first, but with each punching wheeze from Her engines, She gained a little more clarity, solidifying within the oval as She touched down.

The breeze whipped around him, ruffling his shirt and tinkling the tools on a nearby bench – cars scattered around the yard groaning and quaking as the machine forced the space around Her to accommodate Her, the light on top of the box whirling and blinking faster as She materialized with a mild sonic boom. The light gave one more frantic spin, the box blinking for a mere moment before it became a solid part of reality, the shimmery ovaline nimbus winking out as soon as the machine became more 'there' than not.

Dean swayed with the force of her last push and straightened out his hair and shirt, wondering for a split second if he should tease the man inside by pretending to go back to work, but opting instead to lean against the covered hood of the Impala, aware he was grinning like a loon and not really caring one bit. The last week had been the worst yet so far (and that was saying something), so a visit from his space-traveling alien friend was a more than welcome reprieve.

But he wasn't going to overdo it.

Dean counted off from ten and had just hit two, when the left door creaked inward, a Stetson covered head poking out to scan the surroundings; the Doctor hazarding a look at the ground before one foot cautiously test the gravel-path outside the door. He stepped out (door clicking closed behind him) and turned to look at Dean, big grin spreading across his ridiculous face as he flung his arms out to either side, like a nine-year old on his first roller-coaster.

“Dean!”

“Doctor,” Dean replied (a little more sedately, but no less enthused).

It said something about their relationship (and what the Doctor meant to him) when he allowed the tall alien to wrap him up in a bone-crushing hug, feet being lifted clear off the ground before he was deposited gently back down on the Impala's hood. The Doctor stepped back to study Dean (eyes roaming over the tarped vehicle behind him), hands shoved deep into the pockets of a new (to Dean at least) green overcoat, his preposterous red bowtie sitting smartly below his equally preposterous chin.

In other words, he was a sight for sore eyes. If Dean had half a mind to lose his dignity and get fussed over with the Doctor's sonic for being ill, he would have returned the hug (with bonus rib-cracking). Instead, he settled for leaning casually across the Impala's hood, arms crossed as he gave the alien the same once-over he had received; Dean's only concession to the surprise visit being a huge grin on his face.

“So Doctor, you gonna stand around here, or let me in on what's going down?” Dean finally asked, leaning down over the right side of the Impala to rummage in the ice-box near her fender. He plucked out a cold Coca-Cola, brushing off stray flecks of ice before popping the tab and handing it to the Doctor; grin still twitching at the corners of his mouth as the Time-Lord sniffed at the drink before cautioning a sip.

“Ahhh,” the Doctor coughed, blinking back tears from the carbonation. “Should I have a reason for dropping by to see an old friend?”

He waved randomly with his free hand as he searched out a place to set his drink before spying the bench with Dean's tools, eyes lighting up with relief as he set the can down, (giving another tiny polite cough), before spinning back in Dean's direction, silly grin fixed but uncertain. His shoulders relaxed when he saw Dean was more amused than insulted. Clapping his hands and rubbing them together, the scoped out the area they were standing in, nose wrinkling in interest.

“So basically,” Dean said smoothly. “You landed wrong...again.”

“A bit wrong, yeah,” the alien shrugged, carefully not looking at him. He cautioned a smile in Dean's direction, fingers twisting around themselves as he searched for an explanation and came up blank. “But here I am! And here are you! And what happened to your Old Girl?”

The Doctor stalked awkwardly around the side of the Impala, peering through the windows as Dean relayed the (watered down) skinny on what had occurred over the past few weeks, relieved that the Doctor didn't give him any of the usual 'So sorry' and sympathetic noises he had come to expect from their small inner circle of friends. Instead he nodded in all the right places, made clucking noises with his tongue and happily buried himself under the hood when Dean opened it back up – sonicing busily as he checked the parts he had left behind.

“Well, looks like you've got her fixed up beautifully...sad to say it happens now and again. Don't know how many times I've had to fix or rebuild the TARDIS. She's getting on in years you know, like –“

“Some others you could mention,” Dean laughed. “So, Doctor – what brings you here? And don't blame the TARDIS –“

“I don't know,” the alien answered truthfully, Stetson carefully pulled low over his eyes, hiding what he was thinking. “I was aiming for my one last shot at Exsador – see if maybe I could get there before...never mind, what's this?”

Dean peered at the part he was tinkering with and rolled his eyes, knowing he was being evaded and wondering what could make the Doctor so cagey with him. He studied the Time-Lord's profile but could find nothing outwardly wrong -

So why did it feel like a shadow had fallen over this beautiful day?

“Her carburetor – come on, Doc...you knew that. What's going on? And where are the Ponds?”

The Doctor froze, his expression unreadable as he slowly straightened, head tilted so Dean couldn't see his eyes. He slowly put his sonic screwdriver back in his inner pocket, straightening his coat with a snap of his lapels, smile watery as he stared at the Impala's engine block; as if the car held all the answers he couldn't give.

“Amy and Rory...they – they're safe,” the Doctor hedged, stepping out of Dean's space and distancing himself physically from anything Dean might think or say.

“Give me more credit than that,” Dean said softly, shivering as a chill crawled over his skin. He wasn’t sure why the Doctor was being this hesitant, but he knew it couldn’t be good. “I know they must be safe, but the last time I saw them –”

“They're home,” the Doctor interrupted, flashing a grim smile Dean's way before edging towards the workbench, long fingers reaching out to fiddle with the tools sitting there, jaw and shoulders set defensively tight against Dean's surprised stare. “Where they belong. Time for them to move on, yeah? Grow up. I'm not good with grown-ups, you know.”

He laughed, the sound almost melancholy, and Dean could feel his heart twinge in his chest, wishing (for just a moment) that the Doctor hadn't come. His day had been going so well. He hadn't been thinking about his own sorrows, dealing with his own stresses – and then the madman with a box just dropped out of the sky carrying weight Dean didn't even want to know about.

And would never know about, if the Doctor had half a mind.

“Doctor –“

“So that's that! Guess I'd best be off – things to do, places to see...big day tomorrow.”

“You just got here, Doctor,” Dean pointed out. “Tomorrow can wait, can't it? It's just another day, right?”

The Doctor paused and Dean had to suppress the urge to flinch at the blank, careful expression on the Time-Lord's face. The Stetson's brim threw shadows across his eyes and Dean was again reminded of how very ancient the alien in front of him actually was; the youth of his features a disguise for him to hide behind, for him to pretend with.

“Right,” the Doctor said flatly, voice neutral as he once again distanced himself from Dean in more than just physical ways. “Just another day. Guess I'd best get to it, then. Good to see you though, Dean – glad the Old Girl dropped me by here –“

“So you're just going to take off again?” Dean called to his back. “Not even gonna hang out a bit, see if the parts you put in even work?”

The Doctor stopped mid-stride and thought about it, head tucked down as he carefully weighed his need to escape against the thrill of riding in the ‘67 Chevy, skillfully piloted by one Dean Winchester.

Dean watched him mull it over and wondered again why the Doctor was being so evasive and hands-off with him. The Doctor he knew could barely contain himself in any given situation – his springy exuberance spilling over onto everyone he encountered.

This Doctor frightened him and left him a little sad, though he didn't quite know why. He looked the same (well, aside from his ridiculous hat and coat), he sounded the same – but his smile didn't fit and he looked...tired. Dean had seen that look on more than a few hunters and knew what it generally meant – for hunters at least. He couldn't imagine the Doctor falling to the same fate; his mouth went dry and his heart shrank at the very thought of anything happening to the Time-Lord. From all he had seen and heard, the alien was a constant in the Universe. For him to not _be_ there –

No, he was just over-anxious and imagining things (and how sad was it that he could think in Sam-speak now?). Too much Death, both literally and figuratively, at his door here of late. He needed to stop ‘projecting’, as Sam would put it.

And he needed to stop the Doctor before he got second thoughts and took off before Dean even got a chance to find out what the fuck was going on with him.

“Doctor,” Dean called out, voice softer than he intended, a touch of worry bleeding through his words. “Whatever is happening, I'm sure it can wait. Just – come back, okay? You don't have to talk about it. We can hang out, talk cars and time machines if that's what you want.”

Dean waited the Doctor out, radio filling in the silence with some inane commercial about a car dealership in Sioux City with rock-bottom prices on their newest imports. He carefully took in how still the Time-Lord was, the tightness of his shoulders, one foot poised just outside of his machine, head bowed as he considered Dean's offer against whatever tomorrow held for him. To think a few moments ago he had wished the Doctor hadn't arrived to ruin his day. Now Dean wished he would do anything but leave, recognizing the classic symptoms of Retreat and Protect – knowing this might be the last time he ever saw him. That was always a risk with the Doctor, but the Time-Lord’s odd behavior gave him that cold fluttering in his gut.

“I suppose,” the Doctor murmured, more to himself than to Dean. “I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt.”

“Not at all,” Dean coaxed, turning to fold the tarp up and set it under the bench. He kept his movements languid and his back to the Doctor, knowing any pressure just might make him run no matter what he said. “What's time to a Time-Lord?”

“Indeed,” the Doctor muttered darkly, his voice closer than it had been a minute before. “Time has never laid a glove on me.”

' _Right_ ,' Dean thought, reaching out to snap the radio off. ' _You've said that before._ '

“So,” Dean coughed, closing the hood of the Impala with a thump. “Existadora –“

“Exsador,” the Doctor corrected absently, shuffling closer to lean against the gleaming hood next to Dean, but with more inches between them than Dean really liked. Which was funny in and of itself. Only Sam, the Doctor and Cas could ever get that close and really, he preferred it that way. Though he wanted to do anything other than think of Castiel right now. “Seventeen galaxies lined up in perfect symmetry – held within a Time-Lock.”

“Beautiful, huh?” Dean quizzed and snuck a glance at him from the corner of his eye, head tilted away as if he was looking across the yard instead of at the Time-Lord.

“Exquisite,” the Doctor smiled. “Of course, there's a limited amount of time to see it in –”

“You said it was behind a Time-Lock.”

“Oh, it is,” the Doctor replied, the grin that Dean liked so well creeping over his face, chasing the shadows out of his eyes. “But you have to get it _just right_ –“

“Taking anyone with you?”

The Doctor shut down again. His hands stilled their restless twiddling and his smile became uncomfortably fixed, even as he tried to shrug off the question.

“No. On my own for a bit – seeing the sights, mucking about in the universe for a while. Can't do it proper if you have someone tagging after you, getting themselves into trouble.”

“You seem to do that quite well on your own,” Dean teased, trying to lighten the mood and dismayed when it sailed over the Time-Lord's head, his expression just as closed as ever, arms crossed defensively.

“Yeah,” the Doctor mused. “Guess I do, at that. Those were the days.”

That final statement left Dean speechless, his brain unable to come up with a proper reply, as the Doctor pushed off from the Impala's hood. Again, the alien fiddled restlessly with the tools on the bench, while Dean tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't make the Doctor suddenly decide it was time to go. He watched quietly as the Time-Lord wandered around: picking up his abandoned cola, sniffing at it suspiciously, before carefully placing it back down (like it was a bomb that might go off), sneaking a glance at Dean over his shoulder as he toyed with a socket wrench. He looked almost relieved at Dean's unwillingness to pry and he set the wrench back down with a thump, nodding to himself as if he had decided something. Wetting one finger with his tongue, he ticked it through the air, before pointing towards the front of the yard, the gesture so familiar yet so odd Dean had to restrain the sudden urge to smile.

The Doctor had obviously shrugged off whatever was bothering him (at least that's how it would look to anyone else who was not Dean Winchester Avoider Extraordinaire), tilting his hat back so he could smack Dean with his 1000 watt grin, hands back to their endless fidgeting with each other, feet toeing the dirt like he was set to start dancing.

“Anyway, Exsador,” the Time-Lord said suddenly, steering the conversation back to safer waters. “Part of my little ramble, or was set to be, before Old Girl dropped me here. Wonder why that is?”

“Maybe She likes me,” Dean grinned, relaxing a bit as the Doctor's mood lifted, his smile a little more genuine than the one of a few minutes before.

“Ohh, She does indeed, cheeky old thing. Never could resist a handsome face, my Girl,” the Doctor winked. “So Exsador is out then, I guess. A shame that – I was really looking forward to seeing it.”

He poked one long finger at the cola can and sniffed, hands on his hips as his eyes drifted to the front of Bobby's yard, expression alight with curiosity.

“Was suppose to be my last stop on the farewell tour – though here's just as good as there, I suppose.” He clapped one hand on Dean's shoulder giving him a vigorous shake as he turned on one heel, mind obviously made up to go exploring beyond the little patch of ground Dean had staked out for the day. “D'ya have any tea about? Think a good cuppa would just hit the spot right about now.”

“Wait – Doctor...farewell tour?” Dean asked, but the Doctor was already gone, long legs eating up ground as he headed unerringly towards Bobby's house, looking for all intents and purposes like he owned the place.

Dean sighed and gathered up his tools, putting them back inside in the rolling tool table he had dragged out with him. He looked at the tarp he had just folded and put away, pulling it back out with a shrug as he settled it back over the car, covering her completely from hood to truck. He straightened out any creases he found on his final walk around, his eyes scanning absently for any stray tools he could have left out. Finally, the area was completely ship-shape, so he dumped out the remains of the Doctor's cola (knowing it would just got to waste anyway), and threw the empty can in the ice-chest, before grabbing it, and the radio for his short slog back to the house.

Clean up left him more at ease, the mechanical movements of covering the Impala from the elements and policing the area for stray parts and tools giving him time to sort out his thoughts without really having to think them. He also knew he was stalling; staving off the time when he had to prise what was going on out of the alien, without it looking like that was what he was doing.

‘ _More Sam’s area than mine_ ,’ he thought with a frown.

Dean glanced towards the house (and the direction the Doctor had gone) and wished – not for the first time – that he had that same soothing manner as Sam. That he had that ability to draw people out and get them to give up their secrets, because that was obviously what the Doctor needed (as much as he hated to admit it). The alien was generally talkative (nonstop if you gave him half a chance), but his hesitant half-answers were a sign that something was wrong.

Something he wasn’t willing to talk about. Which naturally meant he needed to talk about it.

Dean knew it, the TARDIS knew it (which was how the Time-Lord had wound up here) and now he just needed to find a way to get him to open up. All without the aid of Sam, whom he knew was already shuffling as far away from the alien as he possibly could right about now.

“Farewell tour,” he muttered, hefting the ice-chest to a more comfortable grip. “What the hell does that even _mean_?”

He toed the back door open, setting the radio on the side chest near the stairs, before heading to the kitchen. The sound of Bobby's laughter make him pause for just a moment, warmth spreading through his chest at the ringing tone of Singer’s deep chuckle. He tapped a foot down a bit harder than necessary to give Bobby an out if he needed it, poking his head around the corner to find the Doctor giving him a wink (of course the alien had heard him), Bobby turning a grin his way that dropped a good ten years off of his face.

“Dean!” Bobby said good-naturedly. “Glad to see you brought home a stray.”

“Bobby,” Dean greeted non-committally. He set the ice-chest down and rummaged for full cokes, putting them back in the tiny fridge, tossing the empties in the nearby garbage can housed just under the sink.

“Kinda didn’t have a choice,” he teased over his shoulder. “This one has a bad habit of crash-landing wherever. Can’t drive worth a shit.”

“Oi!” The Doctor groused, though there was laughter in his voice. “And language!”

“As I was sayin’,” Bobby cut in, smile in his voice. “It is good to see you. Heard so much about you – and there was that fiasco two-three years ago –“

“You were invaluable,” the Doctor interrupted, that happy enthusiasm spilling all over the tiny kitchen. “I have no idea what I would have done without you. Bit of a mess, but between you and the boys, well…”

Dean smiled at him as he dumped the leftover ice in the sink, knowing such praise was doing Bobby good, even if the man didn’t know it. Too much blood, death and loss and not enough thanks in the business.

“Think nothing of it,” Bobby said gruffly, though he sounded pleased. “Always glad to help out. Just…the _Doctor_ – never woulda thought I’d meet you!”

“Bad penny,” the Doctor replied cheerfully. “That’s me!”

He had removed his hat (out of deference Dean guessed, though Bobby wore his in the house all the time) and he was placing it on the table carefully so he could remove his overcoat. Dean was half-relieved to see his still wore his familiar tweeds; but what else would go with stupid suspenders and an even stupider bow-tie?

“Now, you said you had tea…?“

“Dunno how good it is,” Bobby said apologetically. “Karen used to drink tea all the time. If it _is_ there, it’s pretty old.”

“No problem at all!” The Doctor grinned. “As it just so happens, I always carry a few teabags with me, just in case. Not as good as real tea – but it’ll do in a pinch. Would you like to join me in a cup?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bobby obliged. "I’ll put the teapot on –“

“Splendid!”

“If you two _ladies_ don’t mind, I’m going to go hunt out Sam. Tell him we’ll be back in a little bit, okay, Doctor?”

The Doctor nodded his absent-minded assent as Bobby gave Dean a begrudging jerk of his head, already knowing why Dean was hunting down his brother instead of making polite noises with him and the Doctor. Sam probably beat feet the second the alien stepped under the Devil’s Trap, his aversion to him (and his dislike of Dean’s affection for him), enough to make him retreat and quickly. Just because he didn’t like the Doctor didn’t mean he had to make him uncomfortable, though – so Sam probably snuck up the backstairs as soon as he heard the Time-Lord enter the front door.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face as he mounted the stairs, hoping Sam wouldn’t be in one of those non-communicative moods, because he really didn’t need that out of both him _and_ the Doctor.

Not today, anyway.

“Sam?”

“Come on in,” Sam called from the bedroom. “Just doing some research.”

Dean leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets as he tried to look as relaxed as he didn’t feel. Sam’s quiet and lack of fire here of late was more off-putting than his breast-beating-‘I’m-better-than-everyone-else’ attitude of a few years ago. At least with that hostile stubbornness Dean knew where he stood. He also knew Lucifer stood in his stead more often than not, so keeping Sam calm and _here_ was more exhausting than returning from Hell had been.

“Shouldn’t read with the lights off.”

Sam snapped on the table lamp with a quirk of his lips, trying his best to look irritated but failing miserably. He looked tired, but genuinely glad to see Dean, even if Dean’s less than welcome guest was literally right under their feet.

At least he wasn’t looking to Dean’s left or right at the moment. Which Dean would be more than happy to chalk up to a win at this point.

“Find anything else we need to know?”

“No…no luck,” Sam groaned, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his chair with a barely stifled whimper. “Just more of the same ‘Elder Gods’ ‘blah-blah-blah’ and since they were long gone from the earth before we were a twinkle in God’s eye, we have virtually no information to go on. Just a lot of rumors and speculation. Seems even the angels didn’t know much about these guys – and you know how demons love a gossip mill.”

“Long on the exaggeration, short on knowledge, yeah – got it,” Dean sympathized.

He walked around Sam’s chair to drag his duffel out from under the left-hand bed, rummaging for a new t-shirt and his deodorant. It seemed no matter how much Bobby fussed that they should ‘unpack and stay a spell’ they were always unpacking but never actually doing it.

He sniffed under his arms and decided he was good enough to just slap on some extra odor killer without taking a spit bath. He yanked on his (semi) fresh t-shirt while Sam clacked away at the laptop’s keyboard, the sound everything that was home, even if the atmosphere was still tense from well…everything.

“So…not gonna get all cleaned up for your boyfriend?” Sam snarked, fingers barely slowing their break-neck pace over the keys. “Thought you’d at least try to smell nice.”

“He likes ‘em manly,” Dean snarked back (but only after he had rocked back on his heels over how damned ordinary their conversation was), his chest tight with happiness and confusion. Fast on the heels of those feelings was dread that it wouldn’t last. It never did – not for them. “Look, Sam –“

“It’s okay,” Sam muttered, not really mad – just lost in whatever he was reading on the computer screen. “But…something’s wrong isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I just…he’s not here on a case, he doesn’t seem to be aware of ours – or if he is –“

“He can’t help us,” Sam finished, darting him a thin (but warm) smile. “Timey-wimey –“

“Spacey-wacey,” Dean laughed. “Yeah…something like that.”

“Well,” Sam said cautiously, giving another stretch before reaching for his coffee cup. “He passed all the tests. I heard him as I was coming up the steps. He even asked if he was going to get the ‘silver-test’ – all excited. Never seen anybody get happy over being cut with a silver knife.”

“He heals faster,” Dean shrugged, as Sam frowned at the dregs of his cold coffee. “He thinks everything is exciting the first time around. Weirdo.”

“Why do you think he’s here, then?” Sam asked, setting the coffee down and looking up at Dean with genuine curiosity. “I mean, if he’s not here needing help and if he’s not here to _give_ help…”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, swallowing back the sudden bite of fear that wanted to sour the conversation. “He’s acting odd, too – you know how he likes to talk –“

“Oh yeah,” Sam sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Can’t get him to stop half the damned time. Even when he makes no sense… _especially_ when he makes no sense.”

“Well…he’s not talking. I mean, he’s _talking_ – but it’s like he’s not really saying anything. And he won’t get within five feet of me. He acts like I might bite him or something.”

Sam eyeballed him with a grin, but only for a moment, realizing how serious the situation actually was. He may not like the Time-Lord, but he had spent a great deal of time with him, so he had a pretty good sense of what constituted normal behavior and what didn’t.

“Did the TARDIS land wrong again? Maybe that’s all there is to it…maybe She dumped him off and he doesn’t need to be here, or She’s preventing him from getting somewhere else,” Sam mused, eyes tracking Dean as he began to pace the small confines of the room.

“Well, that’s part of it – but not all of it. I get the feeling that She landed here deliberately and that She thinks he needs to see me, but what for? I can’t wrap my head around it.” Dean groused, ever aware of time passing, and knowing that the Doctor could bolt at any minute with how restless he was behaving.

“Did he say anything odd? Okay, scratch that – odd for him, that is?” Sam queried, looking genuinely concerned – which didn’t exactly help Dean’s anxiety over the (frankly weird) situation.

“Just that he dropped off the Ponds. They were 'safe'. Oh! And he said something about seventeen galaxies behind a Time-Lock and how he wanted to get a crack at it during his farewell tour.” Dean shrugged. “You know how he exaggerates sometimes.”

“Wait – farewell tour? What the hell is _that_ suppose to mean?” Sam asked sharply.

“I dunno, I don’t even think he realized he said it, it was like he was talking more to himself half the time than me,” Dean replied, scrubbing his hand through his hair again.

“Sounds like he’s been alone a while,” Sam hedged, glancing at Dean from under his bangs.

“Yeah, sounds like.”

“Do you think – “

“No… _no_! C'mon, Sam – this is the _Doctor_ we're talking about here!” Dean protested, knowing Sam was aiming for the same answer he had rejected as being unthinkable.

“Maybe,” Sam said quietly. “But this is the same... _man_ who said that everything has its time.”

“What – and he'd avoid me instead of coming to me to say goodbye?” Dean tried to not be hurt by the thought, but if the Doctor was going to...you know, _die_ – why wouldn't he drop by to say goodbye to him?

“Would you?” Sam asked, grasping just what his big brother was thinking.

Dean deflated, flopping on the bed to rub at his eyes, more tired at that moment than a tune-up on his baby called for.

“No...no, I guess I wouldn't,” He admitted.

He squashed that dark side of himself that wished the TARDIS had just kept on keeping on, feeling ashamed at how he could easily just fold the friendship he had fought so hard for on the idea that it may just end with or without his consent...again. Castiel rose to the front of his mind and he hastily shoved him away. This was not the same thing – not by a long shot.

“Then, what are you doing here?” Sam asked, voice still soft with just a hint of prodding.

“Coming to tell you that I'm going for a car ride with him – and that I'd be back soon,” Dean groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “And maybe get pointers for how to get him to talk.”

“A ride in the Impala?” Sam asked, then nodded as he got it. “The parts he left in – I see.”

“Yeah, but – if he's being all skittish...we could be jumping to conclusions here, Sam.”

“Well then,” Sam shrugged turning back to the laptop. “Guess you'd better go find out.”

“C'mon dude – how'm I gonna get him to talk to me? I'm no good at this stuff,” Dean pleaded, only for Sam to pause and laser him a look that he couldn't quite read, but figured wasn't a good thing.

“And I've got Lucy riding shotgun in my noggin with a penchant for coming out to play when we least need it. Besides, he's _your_ friend –“

“ _Sammy_ –“

“If he'll talk to anyone, it'll be you, not me. He doesn't want a diplomat or hand-holder. I could never get much out of him, anyway. He needs Dean, his friend, nobody else.”

Sam gave him a small smile before turning back to his computer again, wriggling his shoulders like he was setting in for the long haul. Which also meant the conversation was over. Dean smiled to himself, standing up to stretch and clapping one hand against Sam's shoulder, relieved when his brother didn't flinch (as he did so often nowadays).

“Guess I'd better get down there, then.”

“Yeah, before he comes up with an excuse to run,” Sam conceded. He glanced up as Dean passed by, taking a swat at Dean's elbow with the back of his hand. “Hey, do what you can, okay? I mean, we may not get along or whatever – but...he's been there for us when we've been in a pinch. I don't want to see him hurt or...just – let him know what he means to us, okay?”

“That's your department,” Dean groused, pretending to be bored with the idea.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam mumbled, mind already back in research mode. “Tell Bobby I'll be down for some more coffee here in a minute –“

' _Translate – half an hour_ ,' Dean thought.

“- and to save me some.”

“Bobby's having _teaaaa_ ,” Dean drawled batting his lashes.

“ _Really_?” Sam blinked in stunned surprise, before a mischievous grin worked its way across his lips.

“Really.” Dean grinned back. “The Doktah wanted a cuppa – so they're down there like two old biddies, probably lifting their pinkies and everything.”

He and Sam bumped fists in glee, before Dean snagged a fresh over-shirt, heading for the door.

“Fodder for _years_ ,” Sam called.

“You know it,” Dean laughed over his shoulder, only to run smack into the Doctor as he stepped out of their door.

“Jesus – _fuck_! Don't do that, man!” He wheezed, stilling his automatically reflex to punch, practically staggering backwards with the force of it.

“Language,” the Doctor hummed, then quirked an eyebrow, smile dancing at the edges of his mouth. “Robert and I are done with our...tea. And no – pinkies weren't involved, though it was a close thing, I assure you.”

Dean glanced at Sam and shrugged mouthing 'Ears like a bat' while Sam was mouthing 'Robert?' back. They both shrugged again and Dean turned back to the Doctor, who was smiling at the exchange with some amusement.

“And people say _I_ don't get out enough,” the Time-Lord chuckled.

Dean reddened and headed for the stairs, pausing when he saw the Doctor hadn't followed. He turned to find the Time-Lord staring at his brother and was going to call out when the Doctor coughed to get Sam's attention. He couldn't see what Sam was doing, but he guessed that he had stopped to look up because the alien's gaze got more intense, his voice pitched low like this was meant for just him and Sam; leaving Dean feeling like he was intruding.

“Just to let you know...that won't work forever. I'm sorry, but it won't keep him out for long. You'll find your way, I promise you. One day, he will go away and he will never come back – but there will be a lot you will have to deal with between then and now. You've always been strong, Samuel Winchester – that has never been the issue. The question is, can you be weak when the time comes for you to be so? Reeds bend, oaks do not.” The Doctor paused and reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket, rooting around for a moment before he pulled out what looked like a stone, chucking it into the doorway. He could hear the soft 'smack' of Sam catching it and held his breath, wondering how Sam would react to the Doctor's cryptic statements.

“Even if you don't know what I'm talking about now – you will soon. And…I am sorry – I truly am,” the Time-Lord murmured, brow crinkling as he turned away, whatever Sam would have replied with lost to his back. You could have dropped a pin in the silence he left in his wake, not looking at Dean as he swept past him down the stairs, the rumble of his voice heard as he turned to go back into the kitchen.

Dean waffled between wanting to check on Sam and go after the Doctor but was saved by Sam exiting from the room, face as white as a sheet, coffee cup clutched loosely in one hand, the stone-thing gripped tightly in his other fist.

“You okay? Sam?” A little breathless, but he could be forgiven that. He'd forgotten the Doctor could do that trick – go so serious so quick and drop a bomb in your lap without you having the first idea of how to defuse it.

“Yeah... _yeah_ , I'm-I'm fine,” Sam stuttered, looking anything but. “You'd probably better –“

“Yeah,” Dean rasped, making it halfway down the steps on shaky legs before he heard Sam call his name at the top of the stairs, stumbling in his haste to stop and turn around at the same time.

“Sam?”

“Find out what's going on, okay? And –“

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “I got it. And I'll tell Bobby about the coffee, too.”

“Actually,” Sam said faintly. “Tell Bobby I'm going to be laying down for a while.”

And his tall form disappeared back in the direction he came, steps thumping overhead before the floor creaked one final time, signaling that Sam had, indeed, gone to bed. Dean shook it off and rushed into the kitchen, caught by an almost vertigo when he encountered the twin smiles of Bobby and the Doctor as he rounded the door way. The Doctor was already half in his coat, acting for all the world like he hadn't just gone upstairs and rocked Sam's universe.

“Ahhh, Dean – almost ready to go,” the Time-Lord chirruped, straightening his coat with a snap. He turned back to Bobby, his smile so big his face should have cracked, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shook the man's hand vigorously. “It's been a _delight_ , Robert – truly a delight! You brew a smashing cup of tea!”

“Trick is not to boil the water – too many people do that. Or over-steep it.” Bobby shrugged, his own smile enough to stagger Dean with the fact that it even existed, much less that it could cover that much of Bobby's face.

“Well, if I ever want another, I know where to come. Karen did right by you, bless her,” the Doctor said and yanked Bobby into a hug that could crack the ribs of a much younger man. To Dean's further surprise, Bobby let himself be hugged, slapping one hand across the Doctor's back before letting him go. As an afterthought, Bobby grabbed the Stetson off the back of a kitchen chair, popping it back on the Doctor's head as slick as you'd please.

“Thanks for dropping by, Doctor,” Bobby rumbled. “You are welcome here any time.”

“Thank you, Robert. Now we'd best be off I suppose – think Dean is rather surprised I'm still here,” with a teasing look shot in Dean's direction. “I think I'm suppose to have run off by now.”

Bobby laughed, giving Dean a knowing look, then clapped the Doctor on the shoulder as he passed by.

“Just you boys be careful, okay? And Dean – call if it gets too late. You know how Sam worries.”

“Sure... _Robert_ ,” Dean said slyly, grinning when Bobby made a threatening gesture behind the Doctor's turned back. “Sam's gonna be down for a while, though – don't think he feels well.”

Dean shifted his eyes to the Doctor's retreating form and Bobby nodded, worried frown settling it's familiar away across his features. When the thunk of the Doctor's boots had faded towards the back door, Bobby took a glance at the ceiling, mouth curling in as he sighed his worry.

“I'll keep an eye on Sam – I'm sure he'll be fine after a bit. Doctor shook him up some, huh?”

“Yeah...just a bit – look, I'd better go.” Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder and pulled on his over-shirt. “Might be a while.”

“Might,” Bobby said darkly. “Find out what's going on with our Time-Lord friend, huh? He's hiding something big – we might not like what that something is, either.”

“Think I’ve got an idea what it is,” Dean sighed. “And no...we won't like it. I'll be back – save some coffee for Sam, think he's going to try to pull another all-nighter.”

“Will do, boy. Now get going before our alien friend decides his machine is a better bet than the Impala.”

Dean gave him a short, distracted grin before turning to follow the Doctor’s trail, pausing long enough to grab his jacket and check the pockets for his keys and cell-phone, before throwing it on as he swung out the door. Bobby listened for the receding echo of his footsteps, then the muted bang of the screen door as it slammed shut behind him. A few minutes later the deep rumble of the Impala floated through the confines of the house, the sound fading to a throaty purr and then silence as Dean drove away with the Doctor (presumably) in tow.

Bobby took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, gritting his teeth slightly as his bad knee protested the first three steps, his ears open for any sign that Dean had turned back around. He guessed Sam had been listening too, as the creak of the floorboards above told him the younger Winchester was now up and about – likely heading towards the stairs.

“I’m comin’ up, Sam,” Singer called out and was gratified to hear another creak followed by the scraping of a chair across the floor as he hit the last step, unconsciously blowing a sigh of relief as his knee gave a final twinge before falling silent. He massaged his upper leg before slouching in the bedroom doorway, unknowingly adopting Dean’s previous pose as he stared Sam down, frown practically adhered to his moustache.

“Well – didja tell 'im?”

“Tell him what?” Sam retorted looking more tired and ill-tempered than Bobby had seen him in a while.

“ _Sam_ – ”

“I _couldn't_! Bobby, I –” Sam shook his head, burying his face in his hands like that could block out the glare Singer was sending his way. “I just couldn't, okay?”

“He needed to know –” Bobby started sternly.

“ _What_?!” The younger Winchester practically exploded out of his chair, fear and rage twisting his features as he stopped half a foot from Bobby before backing off to pace like a caged tiger. His fingers pulled and clawed through the shaggy mess of his hair as he tried to sort out his thoughts, get himself in order. “Tell him that yet another one of his friends is going to _die_? That he is just...going to step right in front of a bullet for no good _reason_?”

“He has a good reason,” Bobby stated calmly. “I'm sure of it.”

“Oh, yeah – _fixed point_! What a _great_ fucking reason! And this from a-a man who rebooted the entire fucking universe to _avoid_ a fixed point! I just...I couldn't tell him, Bobby.”

“I know,” the older man sighed, snagging the chair and flopping into it heavily. “But he's going to find out –”

“From the Doctor himself if he can get it out of him –”

“And when he does, don't you think he would have rather have been prepared?”

Bobby watched Sam's shoulders slump, his restless pacing stilled as he thought about it. It almost hurt, meeting a creature who was going to die (rather violently) in less than two months time – a man (if you could call him that) who had been around as long as there had been words to describe him; who had been saving and fixing the universe before there really even _was_ a universe. It was astounding, really – extraordinary. But when you actually _met_ him –

“Crazy old man, isn't he?” Bobby chuckled.

“Yeah,” a smile tugged at Sam's lips and he blinked moisture out of his eyes as he turned to grin at Bobby. “Crazy...and a non-stop talker. 'S no wonder Dean likes him so much – you never really know what he's going to say next.”

“ _Horrible_ dress sense –”

“Right? That bow-tie! But it's also the way he walks, you know? Like he never knows where to place his feet –”

“Or his hands.”

“Klutz-extraordinaire.”

They nodded at one another grinning and Bobby felt like a huge pressure had been taken off of his shoulders. Sam looked pretty relieved as well, though his smile was still crooked and a little sad. He might not like the Doctor, but Sam could admit he was definitely a man who made an impression.

“If Rory calls again –” Sam asked softly.

“I'll let you know,” Bobby replied. He heaved to his feet, grimacing as his knee protested the rash maneuver, and made his way to the door, thinking another cup of tea just might be the ticket. “He was just trying to be kind, Sam...let Dean know what was coming.”

“I know,” was the tired response. “I just...I need some time. If the Doctor tells him, I can slide it in there, but if not...he took Castiel so hard. I don't think we can lose anyone else, Bobby. It will tear him apart.”

“I know, kid...but – he'll have to be told sometime.” He turned in the doorway and studied Sam with sharp eyes, noticing he looked more than tired. “Are you okay? I know the Doctor said something –”

“He just confirmed a few things I already knew, Bobby. He just...does that sometimes. Think I'll go ahead and lay down for a bit after all. Just let me know if Rory or Amy call, okay?”

“Will do, boy...get some rest,” Bobby muttered.

Obviously he would be drinking tea a lot in his future.

 

  
**DW~SPN~DW~SPN~DW**   


 

It took Dean a second to find the Doctor; he wasn't beside the Impala, but the TARDIS was still parked in the yard which meant he hadn't left...yet. So it was a safe bet he was still around somewhere. After pausing long enough to remove the tarp (yet again) from the freshly buffed contours of his girl, he went searching, knowing he probably wouldn’t have to go far to find him. As luck would have it, Dean's hunch paid off and it didn't even take as long as he had calculated for.

The Time-Lord was maybe twenty-five feet from where the Impala sat, behind a towering pile of crushed and mangled cars, sonic working busily over a defunct orange Vega that looked as if its better days were centuries ago. He mumbled to himself as he took readings, pausing only to jam his upper body through one of the broken passenger windows, the echo of his screwdriver setting the junked cars around him to vibrating in a dangerous, off-putting rattle.

Dean ignored the angry rumble from the haphazard towers of metal around him and strolled to the Doctor's side, grinning despite himself. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the Time-Lord until now, really – the sheer oddness of the Doctor defied description until you had spent time with him. Even then, it still defied description, but you were a little more comfortable on where you sat in the grand scheme of things.

“– that's it, there's a girl...just what I was looking for. Think that would do nicely. You know, as I was saying, I remember you in your heyday. Now, don't be like that. No, it wasn't much – nor was it for very long, but you still got a better shake than the Edsel. Or the Pacer – now _there's_ a disaster that never knows when to stop running – or start starting –”

“I don't think you'll find anything in there that you can use for the TARDIS, Doctor,” Dean said, pitching his voice so he could be heard through the sorry looking gaps in the rusting vehicle.

To the Doctor's credit he didn't startle – or if he did, Dean couldn't tell. Then again, he _did_ have ears like a bat. Instead, he got a muttered 'Hang on' and the pleasure of watching the Time-Lord try to wriggle his way back out of the open window, which required a lot of flailing of his legs and twisting of his upper torso, before he slid out with an almost audible popping noise.

' _It's like hanging out with your very own Looney Tune_ ,' Dean marveled, unable to stop the silly grin on his face from going wider – especially when he saw that stupid Stetson was still firmly jammed on top of the Doctor's head, although at a slightly jauntier angle than before.

The Doctor flashed him a distracted grin, trying to straighten his Stetson while squinting at the read-out on the screwdriver, which was a bit like watching someone try to pat the top of their head, rub their tummy, and chew gum at the same time.

“You'd be surprised,” the Time-Lord finally answered, smacking the sonic closed and sliding it smoothly into the inner pocket of his coat. He wriggled the hat a little straighter and smiled more directly at Dean, his eyes dancing with mirth as though he could see what Dean had been thinking. “There are quite a few parts in American vehicles that splice quite nicely with Her own parts. And vice-versa, as we know. Shall we?”

"After you, Doc," Dean laughed, sweeping his hand out towards the Impala's direction.

The Doctor nodded his assent with a funny little jerk of his head and ambled past him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking for all the world like a stork trying to find its footing. Dean started after him, then paused and glanced at the Vega, half-wondering what the Doctor had been messing with in there, but half-afraid that if he stopped to poke around, then the Time-Lord might just keep on going to his TARDIS.

He jogged a couple of steps towards him, keeping up with his long-legged stride easily - his years of practice with Sam coming in handy.

"So, what were you looking at?" He queried, brain scrambling to come up with a conversation starter. "Maybe I can help you get to it -"

"No, never mind," the Doctor said easily, waving off Dean's suggestion without even looking his way. "Won't need it after all, it seems. Old habit, though - there's a Girl! How are you, you wonderful, _gorgeous_ machine?"

Dean stopped, puzzled at his brisk and dismissive manner, and hung back a little while the Doctor crooned and petted over the Impala's sleek body, fingers reverently brushing her trunk, her roof and the chrome at her windows. If Sam had done that, not only would Dean have yelled at him for marring her wax-job (after tossing some holy water in his face), he would have spent the next ten minutes buffing out imaginary finger-marks anywhere his brother had touched; just to irritate Sam if nothing else. But with the Doctor, he didn't mind so much; the feather-light caresses and soft cooing noises telling him the Doctor loved her almost as much as he did. At the very least, he respected her as Dean's home, not just a vehicle. Which...considering the TARDIS and what she was to the Doctor…

"You sure, Doc? It wouldn't be any trouble to -"

" _I'm sure_ ," the Time-Lord said tightly, hands falling away from the Chevy like she had hurt him somehow. "I just - I'm sorry. I'm sure, Dean, thank you. Is she open?"

He barely paused to ask the question before pulling out his sonic once more and unlocking the passenger side, throwing Dean a crooked smile as he tucked it away again with a slight gesture of his fingers, popping open the door to ease himself in. Dean was taken aback by the almost angry interruption, followed by the soft, but sincere apology - two in under an hour.

' _He never apologizes...What is going_ on _with him?_ '

"Would you, ahhh...you wanna drive?" Dean asked, unsure why he _did_ ask, only feeling it was important. The Doctor stopped to look at him, one elbow leaned on the roof, eyes unreadable, that crooked smile looking icy and sad all at once. He knew how odd it sounded, asking the alien if he wanted to take her for a spin - he barely let Sam drive her - but..."Give her parts a test?"

The Doctor took a second to answer, gaze dropping away as he considered the offer, tongue peeking out to swipe at his lower lip - a nervous habit Dean knew well - and then shook his head, smile a little softer around the edges.

"No, I'll leave her to a professional. Besides, it'll be easier to check her systems if I'm not distracted by small things like speed limits, road obstructions, police officers, traffic signs... _people_." Another smile, but one that was distorted by the shadows thrown from the Stetson. "Some other time?"

Dean felt another cold wave creep down his spine, the Doctor's last statement somehow eerie in its innocuousness. Like he just lied - even though he hadn't said anything that could be construed as a lie.

' _Rule Number One_.'

"Sure, Doc," Dean replied, lips almost numb as if he had just made a promise that he would be unable to keep. "Another time then."

But the Doctor was already seated, the 'kerchunk' of the door closing cutting off Dean's last words as if he had never made them.

Dean blinked at the space the Time-Lord had been occupying, the chills being replaced with a faint surge of anger at the Doctor’s curt and dismissive manner. Vagueness and flat-out secrets had become a large bone of contention with him the past two years, as he had watched friends and innocent bystanders die and get injured from some yahoo’s need-to-fucking-know attitude. Sucked even worse when you got that from a friend, someone you considered family; he knew all about that first hand.

He stopped to breathe for a second, trying to reign in his temper, knowing the Doctor wasn’t being deliberately obtuse for the sake of it. He was trying (most likely) to protect Dean from something and he wouldn’t have the slightest clue how such ‘protection’ had blown up in all their faces the last few years. First Sam, then Bobby, then Castiel –

‘ _He probably doesn’t know about any of that. And even if he did, it’s not like he would consider his secrets to have earth-shaking consequences for our little patch of the universe_.’

He didn’t even bother to complete the thought, knowing full well that if the Doctor thought that his secrets, his problems even had a chance of affecting Dean, Sam or Bobby, he would never have shown up in the first place, regardless of where the TARDIS landed. He quashed the next thought on the heels of that one, that damnable wish that the Doctor had found someone else, _anyone_ else, to bother that day – as it was a thought unworthy of either of them.

He nodded to himself and rolled his jaw, reaching down to open the driver’s side door.

“Okay,” he said softly.

‘ _Here goes nothin’_.’

Turning to greet him as he sat down, the Time-Lord’s radiant smile was like that of a five-year old finding Christmas, and it eased some of the nervous panic that had taken the place of Dean’s anger. The Doctor rubbed his hands together briskly and leaned back against the seat, seeming too big for such a tight space (which was saying something, since Sam sat there nearly every damned day); but likely that was just the Stetson all by itself.

“Ready to go?” the Doctor asked brightly and Dean had to fight to keep from grinning back at him, sure the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but amusing; though the Time-Lord’s happy enthusiasm was catching, even at the worst of times.

“Yeah, Doc,” Dean replied, turning over her engine with a practiced twist of his wrist. He gunned her for a second (getting another smile of delight from the alien) before putting her in ‘drive’, leaning back as the car shot forward, heading for the entrance to Singer Salvage.

‘ _Ready to go._ ’  



End file.
